The aquarium was probably noisier than when it was open to the public, Rafiel thought, as he stood back, watching the frantic activity around him. People were snapping shots of the tank area and McKnight, with remarkable efficiency, probably born of the fact that Rafiel was frowning vaguely in his direction, was directing three people—three of Goldport's part-time officers, more used to breaking up drunken brawls among students than to doing crime scene processing—in combing through everything around there, including the planters by the side of shark tank.
And Rafiel, having quietly gotten away from the thick of things, had managed to sidle up to John Wagner, who was leaning against the far wall, under the plaque that explained the sharks' habits—unpleasant—and habitats—more extensive than Rafiel was comfortable thinking about.
He was a young guy, light-haired. Probably in his twenties, and he looked like he devoted serious time to body building. His file, as well as the brief conversation that Rafiel had had with him, indicated that Wagner was in college. Rafiel wondered what he majored in. Perhaps physical education or sports medicine?
Rafiel leaned beside him, casually. He noted that the man gave him a brief, amused, sidelong glance, and he returned a friendly smile. "So," he said, trying desperately to sound as if he was just making casual conversation, "you work out?"
The amused glance took him in again, and a lip curled ironically on the side. "A bit," the young man said. "Now and then."
And then Rafiel decided to go for broke, with the type of question that, should his interlocutor refuse to understand it or to respond, could be passed off as a joke of some sort—and which would certainly sound like a joke to anyone overhearing it. "In human form?" He had figured that Wagner's was the shifter-smell all around the shark area.
If he expected Wagner to be discomposed, he missed his mark. The smile only became a little broader, and he said, "Sure. The other one isn't really conducive to it. Unless I wanted to work on my ear muscles. And then there's all the drool."
"What?" Rafiel asked, unable to help himself. He cast a quick glance at the other people in the room, who were all surrounding something and taking pictures of it.
Wagner cackled, in unbecoming satisfaction. He muttered something under his breath that sounded disturbingly like "dumb ass," then added, "If you can smell me, what makes you think I can't smell you?"
"Oh," Rafiel said, now totally out of his depth. "Oh." He turned around to look at Wagner fully. The young man was grinning at him.
"Do you . . . do you know many of your . . . of our kind?" Rafiel asked. He'd never before interviewed anyone fully aware of what he himself was.
Wagner shrugged. "A couple. A friend back home, and then one more in college."
"Oh. What . . . are they?"
"Uh?"
"What forms do they take?" Rafiel said, his eye still on his subordinates and colleagues to make sure no one approached to hear this very strange conversation.
"Oh. My friend, Keith Kawamoto, back home was a bear. Which was very weird in Hawaii. Oh, sure, we had lots of fun roaming the beach late at night in our shifted forms. And he used to hang out in the Aiea Loop Trail. Weird-ass reports to everyone who would listen—and a lot of people who wouldn't—by the tourists. But who is going to believe tourists talking about a bear and a dog walking along the beach at low tide? Or a bear just hanging out? There was some enquiry once, to see if a circus that was passing through had lost a trained bear, but that was about it."
"And then here?"
Shrug. "There's a guy in the dorms who turns into a unicorn. Weird-ass thing to turn into, and of course no one believes it even if they see him. Sometimes we get reports of a white horse hanging about, is about it. It's assumed to be a prank." He shrugged. "After I smelled him out, we became pretty good friends. I keep telling him he's a unicorn so he can go in search of virgins, but he doesn't look like he'll ever have the courage, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows. "Engineering student and a bit of a dumb ass, but a nice guy."
His matter-of-fact approach to the situation and the way he seemed to have co-opted Rafiel as a buddy, whether Rafiel wanted to be one or not, were disconcerting enough that it took Rafiel a moment to collect himself. "So . . . you don't . . . I mean . . . I've had reports from . . . from another shifter . . . of a spider-crab shifter here in the aquarium. So I take it that's not true. I mean . . ."
"What? Because I didn't include him in my count? Nah, I didn't count him because I don't really know him. I know of him, but I don't know him. I think everyone in the aquarium—well, everyone who works here after-hours—has seen him. Weird-ass old Japanese guy, you know, all wrinkly and stuff. He looks like the Japanese guys in those reports they used to do where they found some old World War II soldier, who had been defending the same island in the Pacific for fifty years, ready to expel anyone who tried to land, only no one ever did."
"Uh . . ." Rafiel said. "So, you've talked to him?"
Wagner shook his head. "Nah. He doesn't talk to anyone. I don't even know if he speaks English, or if he was brought here in crab form." He shrugged. "I know he's been here for about ten years. It must be weird, you know, to have a form where if you shift you have to be near or in water. I don't know what I'd do if that were my problem. I mean, you can't always control when you shift."
Rafiel nodded. He couldn't imagine it either.
"So no one has talked to him?"
"Not that I know. Of course, the other people don't know he's a shifter. Anyone who is not expecting it, and who sees a little old man climb the side of an aquarium and plop inside, and disappear, thinks they're just seeing things, you know. So they talk about him as a ghost. If you go on-line, this aquarium is in Colorado's list of most haunted places. Just because of the old Japanese man. And they've made up all sorts of weird-ass shit about him. You know, that he was eaten by sharks here or some shit like that." He shrugged. "But as far as I know he's never talked to anyone. He just sits there and watches."
"I see," Rafiel said, wondering whether he was being lied to, and if so why. Professional disinformation, he thought. You always wonder if they're lying to you. And if they are, why. "So . . . did you smell him? The crab shifter? Is that why you know he's not a ghost?"
John Wagner looked startled. "You can't smell them. Not the water ones. Keith Kawamoto says he knows a dolphin one, and he said that, too. They don't smell like the rest of us. Why should they? Their signals will go over water, not air—"
"But—" Rafiel said. "How do you—"
"I've seen him shift. Watched him. I know what that looks like. Don't you?"
"Yeah . . . but . . . he doesn't smell? Of shifter?"
John Wagner shook his head. "And that's what worries me, you know? There could be others, in here." He gestured broadly at the tanks all around. "We'd never know. So . . . how could I find them if I can't smell them?"
"And do you have any idea?" Rafiel asked.
"Oh, sure," Wagner said. "You know, how when you shift you're always dying for a protein snack?"
Rafiel thought of Tom stuffing down pepperoni and cold cuts once, in a convenience store in the middle of Arizona. He thought of himself, dropping into the diner for bacon and eggs in the middle of the night, after a shift. He thought of sharks . . . "You mean?" he said, his voice sounding thick and queasy to his own ears. "You mean the sharks?"
John Wagner nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "The sharks. And you know . . ." He shrugged. "Ah, hell. You grow up with legends about this stuff, you know? In Hawaii it's the beautiful girl who goes swimming with you at night and becomes a shark." He frowned slightly. "One of my college profs said it was a gynophobic fantasy like the vagina dentata. Dumb ass."
Rafiel, not sure he got the point, cleared his throat. "A girl," he said, "who turns into a shark. A girl from Hawaii? Like Lei Lani?"
Wagner shrugged. "Eh. Don't quote me on that. I have nothing against Lei. She's okay by me. Pretty easy on the eye too. Besides, I'm not too sure she's from Hawaii."
"What do you mean you're not too sure? I thought she was interning here, from the aquarium there or something?"
"Heard something like that too. 'Course, I didn't look at her resume or anything, you know. But . . ."
"But?"
"But I, well . . . At the end of the day I told her, you know, Eh tita, pau hana?"
"You told her tit what?" Rafiel asked, flabbergasted.
"Exactly. And she said just that. And she thought I was getting fresh or something . . ." He frowned. "And no Hawaiian girl would. That phrase is . . . eh . . . so, strong sister, quitting time? Tita is . . . a strong woman. When a Hawaiian tita comes after you, you run. Very strong personality. But she didn't get that at all. And anyone from Hawaii would know." He paused. "And she didn't know tako is a squid. And . . ." He shook his head. "She's just not right."